


Better run for cover...

by Siff



Series: Doors, doors, so many doors... [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifting, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The "One of us dies today" scene from episode X01, where the King's guarding dogs are actually... dogs. Or as close as they can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first of (hopefully) many small stories with our four boys set in many different verses and worlds. Pretty much just using what I know and love, so anything can pop up^^

The boy stripped off his belt and jacket and threw it on a barrel.

Athos unbuckled how own belt, already knowing what kind of duel the boy had in mind, and handed his weapons to Aramis who took it without taking his eyes off the boy. He looked amused. Porthos looked downright happy.

“May I ask why we are to fight?” Athos asked, trying to hide his amusement – or was it annoyance – from the boy. This kind of duel was no joke, yet the lad had demanded it like it was merely a swordfight. And clearly without knowing who his opponent was. He slowly took off his jacket and hat.

“You killed my father,” was the boy’s answer, leaving Athos only more confused.

“I do not know what you–“

“Murderer!” the boy screamed and leaped forward, into the air. His body shimmered and the slim form of a young canine replaced it. Its coat was deep brown and shined like a groomed pup’s. The lad had never seen the harshness of life. Not like they had.

Athos stepped aside, letting the boy hit the ground where his feet had been seconds before. He backed away, keeping his eyes on the dog. It bared its teeth and growled. Athos recognized the look in its eyes.

“Fine,” he said and took a deep breath. His body shimmered and in his stead now stood a strong yet lean canine.

Porthos chuckled as the pup’s tail dropped slightly at the sight. He was not surprised. Athos’ other form was always a shock to those who didn’t know him. His human form was composed, dark but calm. His other form was everything he didn’t show in skin and clothes.

The dark, wolf-like hound shook its coat and trotted towards the pup. Its eyes were fixed on the smaller dog, muzzle lowered. There was no obvious threat in his slow advance, other than his dark eyes that never left the pup’s. He had accepted the duel but he wanted to see what his challenger could do before he took his own bite.

When only a few feet separated them, the pup seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. He growled deep in his throat and dug his claws into the dirt. He sprang forward with a howl. Athos once again took a step to the side, but this time he turned his head and grabbed the boy by the neck. He twisted himself around, taking the pup with him, and released him while moving. The pup flew from his jaws, landing by the gate and quickly jumped to his feet. He attacked again.

And again. And again.

Athos dodged and danced around him, avoiding his teeth and his attempts to jump on his back. Aramis and Porthos watched on with growing amusement. The boy was not bad. He clearly lacked discipline and patience, but his form was good and he knew how to use both jaws and paws. And he was stubborn. Any other challenger would have submitted after a few clashed with Athos, but the boy kept jumping back to his feet.

Athos deflected his attacks easily and the boy suddenly jumped back and shimmered to his human skin.

“Fight me, you coward!” he yelled, spit and anger flying from him as his chest worked to draw in a breath. Athos changed too and gave the boy withering look.

“You challenge me but refuse to tell me the reason. I do not wish to kill you over some foolish mistake.”

“There is no mistake. You killed my father, Alexander d´Artagnan, in cold blood three days ago. Do you deny that?”

Athos glanced over at his companions; they both looked puzzled. Porthos shook his head in sympathy for the poor fool while Aramis merely smiled. He turned back to the boy.

“I didn’t kill your father,” Athos said.

“Liar and a coward!”

Apparently, the boy didn’t believe him.

They both shimmered again and this time Athos did not hold back. He didn’t attack, the boy was clearly blinded by grief and thirst for revenge. His mind not in the fight but focused only on the wished result. A serious attack from Athos would kill him. Instead, Athos merely defended himself. He gave the boy no chance to draw blood.

It wasn’t until the growls in his ears became too annoying that Athos finally snapped. He locked his jaws in the pup’s neck and forced him to the ground, laying his weight on the smaller body.

Paws became hands, and fingers were buried in warm fur as he shouted, “Enough!” into the boy’s ears.

“I did not kill your father and I have no wish to kill you.” The body shimmered beneath him and fur was replaced by soft fabrics. “Do not force my hands in this.” Athos’ human form was almost able to make the same growl as his other could, and had often made braver men shake in their boots. The boy just bared his teeth and Athos knew it was a lost cause. He leaned forward, bringing his full weight down on the lad and bared his teeth slightly, claiming his victory. He had won and the boy had to respect that.

He then got up and turned away, leaving the boy to gather what pride he had left.

He heard the movement behind him but it was Aramis’ expression that told him how foolish the boy actually was. He didn’t turn, already seeing the shimmers run over Porthos’ large body. Aramis follow barely a second later. They jumped forward and landed between him and the boy. He turned around slowly, facing the lad who stared at his companions.

They were quite a sight. Aramis was… well… _handsome_ , if a canine could ever be as such. His coat was dark as coal and glinted like a raven’s feather. His eyes were clever, more fitting a fox, and his muzzle seemed to grin even as his hackles were raised.

Porthos was big. Very big. Massive and curly. His fur was short and dark, and he moved with ease despite his large body. His tongue rolled out his mouth and his teeth almost shine in the winter light.

“Plan to fight all three of us?” asked Athos, hoping the sight of his brothers would make the lad run. But the boy seemed to have more balls than brain. He raised his chin and met Athos eyes in a silent answer before he changed form. Athos sighed and joined his brothers, taking his place between them.

They had fought like this many times. Too many to count. They were in tune and the pup had no chance. Despite his skills he quickly ended up on his back with Porthos’ great body looming over him with bared teeth, while Aramis had grabbed his neck, exposing it to Athos who made a show of slowly lowering his head and opening his mouth. His teeth scraped against the pup’s throat, feeling the beating heart echo his own.

“Stop!”

The voice rang out over the yard, drawing them all out of their little-closed world of fighting. All three of them changed and straightened up. The boy was left frozen on the ground, staring up at them.

The captain strode towards them, followed by a few of their own, along with several Red Guards. All three of them tensed as the Guards made their way across the yard towards them. Had they not followed been following the captain, clearly accompanying him as guests to their home, howls and growls would have filled the yard. But they were guests, and the three waited patiently until their captain reached them.

“I promised no trouble, said Treville, after telling them about the charges against Athos. His eyes were resting, not on Athos, but on his friends. The shimmer had already begun on Porthos but a gesture from Athos made him hold it back. He didn’t hide his bared teeth though and cracked his knuckles loudly as he glared at the Guards. 

The Red Guards stepped forward (one of them glancing nervously at Porthos) and placed the golden shackles around Athos wrist, binding his hands and his form within his skin. He didn’t even blink as the pain sat in. He turned to his brothers, telling them to stay calm with a silent glance, and then he turned to the pup who had gathered himself of the ground and now stood looking lost, as his only chance of revenge was taken away from him.

“I did not kill your father, but I am sorry for your loss,” Athos said to the lad, bowing his head slightly to show his respect for the fallen father. Then he was led away. Tugged along behind the Guards, out the gates and disappeared around the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based in the prompt: "The Musketeers (or at least one of them- I like Athos) are captured or something and end up in an illegal underground fighting ring. It's very dangerous stuff, with huge amounts of money changing hands and the fighters kept under lock and key by the 'Masters' who sponser the fights. The Musketeers who haven't been captured try to keep track of the situation by going to the fights in disguise and following the progress of their comrade, passing medical supplies and food when they are able, but this is too big for them to crack open on their own. Musketeers are worth huge money in this world, and a fight that pits the King's best soldier against the Court of Miracles' best brawler is a huge event. That would be a good time for the Musketeers to break up this whole ring of evildoers and rescue their man, right?"
> 
> Only took a little from it, mainly to explore this verse a little more.

They beat him until he hangs in their hands, chin touching his bare chest as he tries to breathe through the pain.

The fat man is sitting on his chair by the table, shirt no longer able to cover the pink belly while drinking from his glass and repeats his words yet again.

“Change.”

When he doesn’t, they start over.

When his legs give out they let him drop to the floor where he curls up to protect his head from the kicks they then give him.

“Change.”

It goes on for what feels like hours and when they finally stop, a hand in his hair then lifts his head and he looks into the dark barrel of a pistol. “Change, Monsieur Musketeer.”

And he does.

The hand releases him as the shimmer runs over his body, sluggish and slow in his tired state, and he falls forward, landing on his paws. The man’s triumphant laughter fills the room and he receives a kick to the rib that sends him sprawling onto his belly. He can’t hold back the whimper that escapes him.

They hold him down, and he whines as the ring closes around his neck. The blessed gold sends a jolt of pain through him, locking him inside himself. His body fights it, the shimmers tries and tries again to change him, but there is nothing. He is trapped.

They bind him to the wall, chain so short he can’t even lie down. The fat man breathes heavenly as he churches beside him, just out of reach of his teeth, and his double chin wobbles as he grins.

“Good boy,” he says, before gesturing to his men. One steps forward with some leather straps tied together. It takes a second before he realizes what it is. A muzzle.

He feels sick but can do nothing as a hand in his fur keeps him still, and the leather slips over his nose and the straps are closed behind his ears.

“Rest, Musketeer,” the man says. “Your first fight is tomorrow.”

. . .

He loses sense of time. The _now_ of the canine mind will only allow him to think of what’s before him. Handy in a fight, dangerous in the long run.

His captors know nothing of his kind and treat him like any other dog they have caged in the back-room. They never remove the golden collar and his fear of what will happen, should it go on, slowly disappears into the back of his mind, forgotten as the _now_ demands his full attention. As the fights demand his attention.

He fights every night, several times. Angry, mad mutts, bearing the wild gleam in their eyes that only comes from a lifetime with leashes and beatings. He wins. He can think like they can’t. The taste of blood is almost constant in his mouth, and while he knows it’s bad and wrong, he’s slowly forgetting why.

His days are spent in the cage, barely large enough for him to stand upright in, and they fed him raw meat and dirty water. A part of his mind warns him, tells him he will regret it when he returns to his human form. But the _now_ overrules that part, and he eats and he drinks because he is hungry and thirsty. And he tears the flesh of the dogs they lock into the ring with him.

One day, Porthos is there, crouching before his cage, dressed in rags and oozing rage. _I’ll get you out_ , he says, _stay alive and wait for us._

He waits and fights, and forgets why. He bites the dogs they force him to face.

They bite him too. One almost tears his ear off, and the blood soaks the fur on his brow until he can’t see. But he still wins.

The fat man waits until the muzzle is once again on him before he pets him like he’s a lapdog. His breath is foul with wine and rot, and he would have bitten him if he could. But while the part of his mind still not consumed by the _now_ knows it only a matter of time before he gets the chance, it becomes less important.

. . .

He growls, hackles raised as the man slowly takes a closer step.

“Easy...” he says, hands held before him, voice calm and soothing. But he doesn’t fool easily.

He walks backward until he’s pressed against the wooden structure that separates the spectators from the dogs. He bares his teeth, but the man doesn’t run like the others do. Instead, he takes another step and speaks in a calm voice.

“Athos, it’s me, remember?” and the voice is familiar. His ears twitch and the man grins relieved. “Exactly. Porthos, remember? We’ve come for you, just like I said. To get you home.”

All this means nothing to him, and he growls at the man.

“Athos, you need to change, this can’t go on,” the man says sounding worried, almost pleading. It scares him, and he snarls and looks around, searching for somewhere to run. But the world has changed. It dark, and yells and growls are filling the air around the ring where he hears bodies collide and bones break.

Suddenly the man has moved closer, and he jumps backward, his back hitting the wood.

“Athos, please change. You know how dangerous this it. Remember Aramis? How close it got? I can’t go through that again. Not with you.” He sounds so sad, so panicked and so worried that something inside him clenches painfully. It hurts him for some reason.

And it confuses him and a whine leaves him. The man is silent, but his worry radiates from him, and before he knows what he is doing, he is slowly making his way towards him. The man reaches out with a hand and he stop just out of his reach. He can smell him, a familiar scent, safe and comfortable, and he whines again.

He takes another step and the fingers brush his head.

It nice, and he leans in until a large hand is resting on his head.

“There we go. You see? It’s just me.”

He whines as the hand slowly strokes his fur and the familiar scent fills his nose. The voice calms him.

“Please change,” the man begs, and he wants it to stop. The worry, the hurt. He wants it to stop but he doesn’t know how.

“Porthos,” a new voice says and he lifts his head, snarling. But the hand on his head doesn’t stop its soothing touch. The man is not worried, and he slowly lets his hackles fall. His eyes never leave other man thought, as he makes his way into the ring towards them. “You found him.”

“I can’t get him to change.”

“The collar.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah, let’s get it-“ The newcomer quickly draws his hand back as he bites at him, not willing to let him get close to him or the man.

“Athos!” Newcomer says, sounding angry, and it makes him curl his lip up into a snarl. He doesn’t like that tone. “What is wrong with you?”

“Athos, easy. It’s just Aramis.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“God knows.”

The hand moves from his head and down his neck, and he tenses as he feels finger crawl beneath the ring, making it tighter against his throat. “Easy... I’m getting this off you.”

The fingers grab the ring and he struggles as it cuts off his air.

Then he hears a loud snap and air rushes back into his lungs, and the golden rings slip from his neck and hit the sand.

It’s like a thorn has been pulled out, a constant pain he had gotten so used to, he hardly feels it anymore, gone in a blink of an eye, and sweet relief fills him.

He nearly falls, but strong hands catch him. “I got you,” Porthos says and holds him close. He shakes violently as his body fights to change. The _now_ is like a fog over his mind and his only guide out of it is Porthos’ voice and the warm, gentle hands on his arm and chest.

It could have taken years, but only second goes by before he’s back. Still shaking and panting heavily, but with Porthos’ warmth against his back and his relieved voice in his ears, Athos feels safe.

“Thank God,” he hears Aramis say and his friend kneels before him with a grin. “Good to have you back.” Then his smile turns downside “Don’t ever bite at me again.”

He can’t help a smile, muscles nearly cramping from not being used for so long. “Can’t promise anything.” He makes a face as he hears the growl in his voice. Aramis looks past him, probably sharing one of his looks with Porthos, and they move as one.

He’s on his feet in a flash, held between them in a gentle grip, and they help him out of the hellhole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had the worst writers blog or dry spell or whatever you call it. I´ve written so much and all of it is crap. This is the only semi-decent thing I have been able to write in weeks (paints a picture, right?) and this wasn't even supposed be more than a single chapter.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading^^ Oh and the Now is borrowed from Elfquest.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, a shapeshifter AU. But even though they are dogs - at least most of the time - there is none of that alpha/Omega-thing. Not in this verse. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading^^


End file.
